Episode Report Card Demian: B | 1 USERS: A+ YOU GRADE IT Coyote Not-So-Ugly
By Demian | Season 3 | Episode 9 | Aired on 01.10.2001
Cut to the street outside the manor, where Prue, Piper, and Leo are loading reunion treats into the back of the SUV. A sporty red convertible pulls up and the man inside calls out, "Piper Halliwell! You still living at home?" "Yes. Yes, I am," Piper replies. "Still living in the very pricey, antique-filled Nob Hill Victorian I co-own with my sisters because my dead grandmother willed it to us. So, haul your worthless ass back to your studio apartment in Oakland, you fuckstick." Only Piper says none of that. Instead, she rather effusively greets the fuckstick, whose name is Justin Harper. Leo gets his boxers in a twist over this, wondering if Justin is an ex-boyfriend. Before he can whip it out to mark his territory, Prue reassures Leo that Justin was just a friend of Piper's, and that Justin actually had a crush on Prue back in the day. Piper and Justin discuss the reunion, and Justin agrees to help them haul some of the food to the club. Prue bounces over with a couple of catering trays, noting that Justin is "all grown up." Justin thinks Prue is Phoebe. Burn!
Piper returns to Leo's side in time for him to note that The Powers That Be are ringing his bell again. Piper makes him "double extra promise" to be back in time to escort her to the reunion, and I stifle my gag reflex as they lean in for a kiss. The camera pans over to an ecru Mercedes parked a bit down the street. Smirking all the while, SlutAndrew watches as Piper perks her way into the SUV. RealAndrew, appearing in the vanity mirror on the visor, pantingly begs SlutAndrew to leave his body. SlutAndrew replies that he/she/it can't do that until he/she/it gets one of the Halliwells alone, as the transfer of the SlutEssence is a "messy" process. RealAndrew begs some more, noting he can't breathe. SlutAndrew smoothly informs RealAndrew it's because his "soul is dying," flips the visor up, and fires up the Merc to follow the SUV and the convertible.
Meanwhile, at your friendly neighborhood cemetery, Phoebe has decided to skip the schoolwork to visit the Mausoleum's mausoleum. I know she's grieving for her lost boyfriend and all, so I should cut her a little slack on her wardrobe, but please. Enough with the gauzy paisley wraps over black pants, hon. Phoebe squats down over the hole Cole's vanquished shirt ate into the marble floor, holding her hands above it as if to summon him. She talks to him, telling him she can no longer keep lying to her sisters. Phoebe needs to tell Piper and Prue she let Cole go, that he won't harm them, and that he loves her, but she doesn't know how to do it. She leans back against a stone bier in frustration, and is flung into a vision. A woman who looks like she could be playing Annie Sullivan in a low-rent version of The Miracle Worker turns on a mustachioed Victorian gent, her eyes blazing with demonic bitchery. She snatches a wailing child from the man's hands, and shoots a blue ball of death at the mustachioed one's chest as the child screams in her arms. Phoebe turns and scrapes away decades of dust from the bier's engraved nameplate to reveal "Benjamin Colerige Turner, 1859-1888." I suppose he must have married into the Mausoleum clan. And the mustachioed one looked a lot older than twenty-nine, but whatever. Phoebe apprehensively eyes the empty mausoleum around her.